


Knowing Yourself

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Acceptance, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Avengers, Queer Themes, Sam Wilson Feels, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Sam Wilson, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times people surprise Sam with their reactions, plus the one time Sam does the same to them (and shows everyone how it’s done).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> For [fuckyeahdeafandasexual](http://fuckyeahdeafandasexual.tumblr.com/), one of the winners of my 400 Followers Ficlet Giveaway Contest over on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/), who wanted Sam/Steve with Sam being transgender and the team finding out about it. 
> 
> As usual with all my queer and especially trans* related works, thanks go to my muse and sounding board Benny who, when we were six years old and sitting outside on the swings in matching black and white polka dot dresses, told me he was going to grow up to be a boy and marry Johnny Depp. (The second one is still a work in progress.) 
> 
> Warnings for a transphobic slur in the last part of the story, and the repeated use of the word queer. I’m a passionate proponent of our community reappropriating the word, and regularly use it when talking about and describing myself, so be assured that it isn’t used out of ignorance or to mock/insult. 
> 
> Also, while researching where Steve would’ve lived in his youth, I found [this](http://thingswithwings.dreamwidth.org/213805.html) amazing post that is definitely worth a read. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**1 - Steve**

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam suggests, mouth twisted into a playful little smirk as he allows himself an appreciative glance up and down Steve’s front, expression morphing into something softer when Steve laughs and blushes, shyly ducking his head. “It's just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?”

Steve bites his lip and seems to seriously consider Sam’s question for a long moment, then sighs and gives a somewhat lost shrug in response. “I don’t know,” he admits, which isn’t all that unexpected, everything considered. Much to Sam’s surprise, though, he adds, eyes twinkling mischievously, “But you lettin’ me take you out for dinner would be a good start.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam chuckles, the by now familiar tease effectively dissolving the last of the gloomy post-session mood. “So you were flirting. Huh.”

“Hey, now,” Steve tries to scowl, but Sam can see he’s doing his damndest to bite back a pleased grin, “give a guy a break. Didn’t have much chance to practice over the last couple of decades. I might be a little rusty.”

“Nah, man,” Sam reassures, stepping closer to lightly rest a hand on Steve’s arm, gaze falling to Steve’s mouth before snapping back up to Steve’s eyes, blue and wide and hopeful, “you’re doing just fine, believe me.”

Steve beams. “How do you feel about Thai? It’s on my list.”

They take a stroll down to the Thai place around the block, enjoying the warm early spring sun, and this time, when their hands brush like they often do when they walk together, Steve reaches out and links his fingers through Sam’s, squeezing gently.

Conversation flows as easily as it usually does between them during dinner, the promise of something new not bringing with it any awkwardness or tension. They eat and they joke, Steve’s foot hooked around Sam’s ankle under the table, exchanging lingering looks and anticipatory smiles, and it’s nice.

Steve, it appears, agrees wholeheartedly, casually leaning against the railing on Sam’s porch after insisting on walking Sam the thirty feet from the curb to his front door. “I had a really great time tonight, Sam,” he says quietly, earnestly, and immediately dispels all of Sam’s previous thoughts of a timid, bashful Steve by moving in close and, after waiting a beat to give Sam a chance to tell him no, pressing his mouth against Sam’s.

And Sam arches into it, into the touch of Steve’s hands on his waist, winding one arm around Steve in return and using his free hand to grab the back of Steve’s neck to hold him right there as he parts his lips. Steve takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, humming contentedly, giving Sam’s bottom lip a sharp nip before trailing his mouth across Sam’s cheek and back to his ear, hips slotting against Sam’s and-

“Steve,” Sam pants, shaking himself and blinking away the thick fog of arousal. “Steve, wait.”

“Too fast?” Steve asks wryly, going to release Sam completely only for Sam to fist a hand into his jacket and draw him back in. “Sam?”

Like ripping off a bandaid, that’s Sam’s preferred method. Get it over with and move on to the fun part, or move on, full stop. “I’m transgender.”

“Oh,” Steve says, nodding, “okay.”

Sam blinks, dumbfounded. “You- okay. Okay. Do you, uh, do you know what that means?”

Captain America, it turns out, has a fierce _Bitch, please!_ glare. Who’d have thought?

“SHIELD put me through sensitivity training before unleashing me on the unsuspecting public, don’t worry,” he deadpans, then cracks a smile, sad and nostalgic and fond all mixed together, and tightens his hold on Sam. “’Sides, I grew up in Brooklyn Heights, a literal ten minute walk from the St George Hotel, right around the corner from the neighbourhood’s most well known drag bar and a block down from the docks. Our upstairs neighbour lived with his nephew who looked nothing like him, everyone knew the ladies across the hall weren’t actually cousins, and one summer my friend Christopher from down the street confessed to some of us that she prefers being called Catherine. Hell, during the day, Bucky ‘an me played in the same alleys where men paid teenage boys for blowjobs once it got dark.”

“That’s disturbing,” Sam mutters, wide-eyed.

Steve winces, sheepishly scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah, I suppose. But, what I’m trying to say is that just because everything has a proper name nowadays and people don’t get arrested or, God forbid, medically mistreated for doing certain things or simply being who they are anymore, that doesn’t mean none of it existed back then. This, you telling me about yourself, I’m honoured that you trust me enough to do so, but the fact that queer people of all sorts exist? It’s not exactly a shock.”

“Well,” Sam drawls, finally getting his bearings back, “that is going to make things a lot less complicated, then.”

“So,” Steve asks uncertainly, thumbs slipping under Sam’s shirt and rubbing nervous circles into Sam’s skin, “have I killed the mood completely, or-“

Sam kisses him again, hard and lingering. “How about you come inside and find out?”

 

**2 - Natasha**

“It’s just a graze,” Sam grits out through clenched teeth when Natasha comes to a crouch next to him, bare from the waist up and his balled up undershirt pressed firmly against the wound on his side. “I’ll be fine.”

“You better be, because I’m not dealing with Cap’s sad face when he hears that his idiot boyfriend got himself killed playing hero,” Natasha snarks back without missing a beat, peeling away the blood-stained shirt to inspect the damage.

Sam hisses out a curse. Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Sam sniffs defensively, and yeah, maybe he’s pouting a little but come on, he’s been shot. He deserves a break. “I said I wasn’t dying. I never said it didn’t hurt.”

Languages have never been Sam’s forte, but he has learned enough from Natasha and Bucky’s constant bickering and needling each other in Russian to know when he’s being insulted, so he shoots a half-hearted glare up at Natasha, which only makes her roll her eyes and murmur, in English this time, “You big baby.”

Sam gasps in mock-offense, going as far as to dramatically press a hand over his heart. “You have terrible bedside manner.”

Natasha snorts and opens her mouth to retaliate with another quip, but then her eyes fall on Sam’s chest and she frowns, lips pursing. “Mastectomy scars,” she murmurs to herself and, when Sam flicks his hand in a _Yeah, so?_ gesture, adds an equally quiet, “I didn’t know.”

“Well,” Sam shrugs, wincing when the movement jars his undoubtedly cracked ribs, “it’s not like I go around advertising it.”

“I didn’t know,” Natasha repeats, looking more disturbed by this than Sam had ever seen her during the entire Project Insight debacle. “I didn’t know.”

For a moment, Sam can’t do anything but stare at her in complete and utter disbelief. Then he starts laughing, immediately following that with a pained groan and a half chuckled, half wheezed, “Sorry to bruise your super spy ego, but can we talk about the fact that you’re human and missed something _after_ we get out of here? You people, honestly. Why am I even friends with you?”

“You’re clearly insane,” Natasha agrees readily, already recovering from her moment of ridiculous self-doubt. “It’s why you fit right in.”

Sam does the mature thing and sticks his tongue out at her.

 

**3 - Tony and Bucky**

“It’s crayon, it’ll wash right off,” Steve apologises, blushing furiously as he hands the excitedly babbling kid back to his mother. “I’m real sorry, ma’am.”

“Mama, look,” the boy exclaims in absolute delight, smearing a finger through his crayon Van Dyke, “I’m Iron Man!”

Sam takes a sip of orange juice to hide his grin, unlike the openly snickering Bucky and Tony across the table, huddled close together on their side of the booth and obviously very pleased with themselves and their handiwork.

The moment the thankfully not all that perturbed woman and her son are out of earshot, Steve rounds on the culprits, sporting his best _Captain America Is Very Disappointed in You_ frown. “Really?” he demands, lips pursed and arms crossed over his chest. “Was that really necessary?”

“Stevie, c’mon,” Bucky huffs, chin jutted out stubbornly, defiantly staring back at Steve. “No one minds signing shit here and there, but who the fuck just plops their kid down in someone’s lap without askin’ first? And then walks away to get another Mimosa? It’s fuckin’ rude, is what it is. Next time I’m usin’ permanent marker. I’m tryin’ to have brunch here, for fuck’s sake.”

Two women, in their late sixties if Sam had to guess, turn to glare disapprovingly at them from their table. Without hesitating or, eerily enough, having to coordinate it with each other, both Bucky and Tony tilt their heads at them, all charm and dimpled smiles in a matter of seconds, the now flustered women quickly moving their attention back to their food.

Steve sighs in resignation and Sam shakes his head, torn between disbelief and amusement, tisking, “You two manage to get away with way too much.”

“It’s the privilege of the rich and beautiful,” Tony declares haughtily, bumping the metal fist Bucky’s holding out to him before linking his fingers through Bucky’s and bringing their joint hands up to his face to ghost a kiss over Bucky’s knuckles.

“I deeply regret introducing the two of you,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes, batting at Bucky’s hand when Bucky tries to steal a piece of bacon from his plate. “Count me out as a godparent for your potential future offspring, I’m definitely not doing that to myself.”

Bucky snorts, fixing Steve with a pointed look. “Oh, please. I’ve been able to see through your _aw shucks, golly gee_ routine since ’29, don’t start actin’ all proper and innocent now, Mister Back Alley Fights and Bar Brawls.”

“My main parenting goal is to be less shitty of a father than Howard was,” Tony throws in with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. “What about you and Cap, Birdman, any baby plans?”

“Maybe,” Sam says without thinking, “I froze some of my eggs way back when, so it’s an option, I suppose.”

It’s been a while since Sam has accidentally come out to someone, but it’s completely worth it to see Tony Stark speechless for once.

“Eggs?” Bucky asks, clearly confused, around a mouthful of, ironically enough, scrambled eggs.

“I was born with a female body,” Sam starts to explain, shooting Steve a small, grateful smile when he feels Steve’s hand on the back of his neck. “But that didn’t fit with what and who I am, so, with the help my therapist and by taking hormones and having several surgeries, I changed my body into one I feel comfortable with.”

“Huh,” Bucky says. “Neat.”

Tony hums his agreement and then, using everyone’s moment of distraction, successfully sneaks the last of Steve’s bacon onto Bucky’s plate.

 

**4 - Thor**

“My friends!” Thor booms in greeting, making Sam jump and then groan when that sends another spike of pain through his already throbbing head.

With a miserable little whine that’s only partially exaggerated in the hopes of getting Steve to hurry up already with the coffee, Sam lets himself tip forward until his forehead is pressed against the cool marble of the breakfast bar, and closes his eyes to shut out the vile brightness of an annoyingly sunny Saturday morning.

He is, Sam vows in that moment, never ever going to drink again. Especially not with his alcohol-resistant super soldier boyfriend, and Tony and Bucky to egg him on and keep challenging him to increasingly elaborate drinking games. The only reason he’s still alive, he knows, is because Natasha didn’t go with them.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs what might be minutes or hours later, Sam is in absolutely no condition to tell, “c’mon, sweetheart, sit up.”

Sam does, reluctantly so and only because Steve is carrying a steaming mug in one hand, and a bottle of aspirin in the other.

“Thanks,” Sam manages eventually, after a few sips of dark, bitter goodness and swallowing two of the painkillers, turning in his chair so Steve can step between his legs and he can bury his face in Steve’s chest. “My hero.”

Steve snorts, but presses a lingering kiss to the crown of Sam’s head. “You ready for breakfast yet?”

Sam’s instant gagging is answer enough.

He must drift off, because the next time Sam tunes in again, Steve has somehow lowered himself onto a barstool of his own and manoeuvred Sam to lean against his shoulder, head tucked comfortable under Steve’s chin.

“And there is a parade?” Thor is asking, thankfully in an almost normal volume now.

“Yeah, among other things,” Steve nods, absently scratching his fingers over the back of Sam’s head as he continues to explain. “There’s all kinds of events during Pride Month, like the rally Tony and me were invited to talk at yesterday. Anything to promote understanding and acceptance of and within the community, really.”

Thor hums thoughtfully. “And painting your face is part of this tradition?”

“For some people,” Steve says. “Mine are the colours of the bisexual pride flag, it’s-“

“Ah, yes,” Thor exclaims excitedly, and Sam cringes a little, “the Lady Darcy has talked to me about this. Your Samuel, what is the meaning of his colours?”

Steve’s hand stills, and Sam doesn’t doubt that Steve would let Thor know that that’s a very personal question he can’t and won’t answer without Sam’s consent, but Thor is a part of their team and Sam has heard mostly good things about him so far.

So Sam peels himself away from Steve, stealing a quick kiss as he goes, yawns, and then tilts his head to give Thor a better view of his cheek. “It’s the transgender pride flag,” he starts, “and it’s not about sexuality like Steve’s, but, as the name implies, about gender.”

Thor is an attentive listener, nodding along seriously and throwing in questions here and there if he requires clarification. He’s quiet once Sam’s finished, contemplative. Sam shoots a questioning glance at Steve, who just shrugs. 

Eventually, Thor wants to know, oddly shy about it, “Do Midgardians have a flag for people who do not conform to one single gender? I know you are not overly fond of Loki after what they did to your city and people, but Loki has struggled with their identity, and the prejudice from my people, for as long as I can remember, and I- I do feel responsible, partially at least, as a brother, for not standing up for my sibling when they needed me.”

“You’re allowed to care, Thor,” Sam says, Steve making sounds of agreement from next to him. “Loki’s your family, you’ve loved them for centuries, that doesn’t go away just because they screwed up.”

“Here,” Steve offers, whipping out his phone and handing it over to Sam. “Sam’s the expert, but I’m pretty sure there’s something for Loki, too.”

“Yeah,” Sam smiles encouragingly, reaching out to squeeze Thor’s arm, “let me show you some stuff.”

 

**5 - Clint**

“Thanks so much for doing this,” Clint says as he hands over the car seat with the cooing Nate in it. “I know it’s short notice, but my sister-in-law’s got the flu and Nate’s too young for his shots and we already had the reservations and-“

“Clint, man,” Sam interrupts, chuckling, carrying Nate to his and Steve’s bedroom where they’ve set up the portacrib. “It’s no problem.”

He carefully transfers the sleepy baby from the carrier to the crib while Clint deposits diapers, bottles and everything else they could possibly need for two days of babysitting on the dresser.

After plugging in the baby monitor and kissing the top of Nate’s fuzzy head, Clint leads the way back out into the hall. “Still,” he repeats, “thanks. We really appreciate it.”

Rounding the corner into the living area, they’re greeted with a giggly screech of, “Higher! Uncle Steve, higher!”

Steve obliges happily enough, it seems, tossing Lila up in the air and catching her again around the waist, then repeating the process several more times before sending her flying over to Bucky, who holds her up over his head while he twirls around, making her laugh and shout in joy.

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m never getting her to go to sleep after this, am I?”

“Nope,” Clint grins, completely unapologetic. But then he nods at Cooper, who’s nestled into Tony’s side on the couch, quietly playing on Tony’s tablet with Tony helping out whenever he’s needed. “Coop’s not going to make a fuss, though. Give him something to read and someone to read it with and he’s happy.”

Cooper whispers something, pointing at the screen with a bright red nail, and then smiles widely when Tony praises him. He has impressive colour coordination skills for an eight-year-old, his leggings the exact same shade as his nails with a knee-length black and white polka dot dress over them.

Obviously following Sam’s gaze, Clint says, “He’s been doing that for a couple of weeks now. The dresses.”

Glancing at Clint from the corner of his eye, Sam asks, testing the waters, “You don’t mind?”

To his credit, Clint actually allows himself a moment to mull it over, chewing his bottom lip, before he replies. “I’m scared, you know? Not about what it means, I don’t give a shit about that. Either it’s a phase, he’s a boy who likes wearing dresses and prettying up, or he’ll eventually tell us he’s a girl. Or something else entirely. Doesn’t matter to me, whatever it is, whatever he is, he’s my kid, always will be. But he’ll have to go back to school at the end of the month and, I don’t know. I want him to be able to be who he is, but I know there are going to be people who have an issue with it. And yeah, that scares the crap out of me.”

“My grandfather,” Sam begins after a moment, “he still uses female pronouns when he talks to me. It’s been nearly twenty years, and he still refuses to acknowledge who I am.”

Clint’s eyes grow wide in surprise for a moment, but then he shakes it off and touches Sam’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that sucks.”

“It does,” Sam agrees sadly, “but it also shows how something as small as changing a few simple words can go a long way to making someone feel safe and accepted. It doesn’t always need much to be supportive, and being supportive and understanding is all you can do, really. That, and staying open-minded.”

“What if I fuck up?” Clint asks, back to worrying at his lip.

Sam shrugs. “Then you fuck up and learn from it. And _then_ you try and fix it.”

Clint sighs wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looks back up again, there’s a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, though. “Can fixing it include me calling you before I panic and make everything even worse? Because I tend to do that.”

“Sure,” Sam laughs, bumping their shoulders together, “sure it can.”

 

**+1**

It happens when the Avengers walk out of the studio after recording a segment for a late night talk show, and Sam probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for Steve suddenly vanishing from his side.

“Cap?” he calls, head swivelling to find Steve across the sea of fans and protestors alike, cursing to himself when he spots Steve and sees where he’s headed. “Cap!”

By the time Sam finally reaches Steve, the rest of the team has already gathered around him and the man carrying the source of Steve’s anger, the two of them caught in a screaming match that’s sure to be up on YouTube before they even make it back to the tower.

From behind Steve, Natasha and Bucky are glaring menacingly while Tony is typing away on his phone, no doubt informing Pepper and the lawyers about what’s going on. Clint is playing with one of his arrows, eyes locked on the protestor, and Thor has his hammer in hand, ready to strike.

“Guys,” Sam cautions, pushing by the rest of the team until he’s at Steve’s side and able to shove between Steve and the guy carrying the sign. “Cap, hey. Steve, calm down, all right?”

Steve’s jaw is working furiously, hands clenched into fists. “Sam,” he grinds out, trembling with barely suppressed rage, “he-“

“He’s calling me a tranny, yeah,” Sam interrupts, deadpan, looking over his shoulder to glance at the sign with his face on it and the slur written across it in big, fat red letters.

“Which will have legal consequences,” Tony pipes up.

Natasha mutters something in Russian, causing Bucky, Clint and Thor to nod at her. Sam narrows his eyes at them in suspicion. He really needs to start taking lessons.

“Sam,” Steve says again, sounding helpless and broken this time. “Sam, I-“

“Walk away, baby,” Sam murmurs, cupping Steve’s face between his hands to force Steve to look at him and not the man still yelling insults behind them. “It’s not worth it. Ignore it, walk away.”

“But-“

Sam shakes his head, pressing a finger against Steve’s lips. “Do not give people like that the satisfaction of reacting to their bullshit. Be the bigger man, know that you’re right and that they’re wrong, and walk away with your head held high.”

After a long, tense moment, Steve lets out a sigh and nods, leaning down to gently bump his forehead against Sam’s. “How do you do it?”

“I have you,” Sam smiles, and pushes up on tiptoes to bring their mouths together. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I love you,” Steve whispers into the kiss.

Sam squeezes him a little tighter. “Lucky me,” he grins, rubbing their noses together. “Love you, too, baby.”

They leave to the protestors screaming after them, but it’s drowned out by the thunderous applause and cheers from the rest of the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works) or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


End file.
